


Pas de Deux

by irisise



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anxiety, Artist Gerard, Ballet Frank, Depression, Gerard is a sweetheart and I want to cuddle him, M/M, Medication, Multi, Speech Impediments, dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:38:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisise/pseuds/irisise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Gerard just wants to unfix things, Frank can do the most pirouettes out of anyone Kristin knows and Belleville tends to be cloudy except when it's not. </p><p>A story of church halls, stumbled words and misplaced ideas of the future and the broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gerard Will Only Get Cuter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned My Chemical Romance I sure as hell wouldn't be writing fanfiction about them.

Mr Warrener had the type of voice that reminded Gerard of boring bagpipe music. The kind that you heard in strange Irish tourist stores ran by strange families that still hung onto their 'Irish famine routes' like two millenniums later. Well, more specifically it sounded like the drone every song seemed to have running the entire way through it, the one that either rang in your ears for days or puts you to sleep. 

In other words, it was fucking boring as hell. It in itself made the class Gerard's least favourite of all classes he had ever taken (and he took freshman French with Mrs Stewart) nevermind the fact that it was Geography and therefore the most sleep lulling class anyways. Really, there was nothing interesting about Geography.

The drone of Mr Warrener's voice dragged on and on as Gerard stared out the window onto the parking lot of the school, filled with a variety of beat up scraps of metal, cheap-looking but still non-scratched and functioning cars, and then the shiny, sleek specimen of grandeur owned by the teenagers of the only 4 rich families in the town. One of which, Gerard most definitely wasn't. Not that he'd want to be anyways, they were the kids that tormented him through middle school to Sophomore year. 

Now though, they mostly left him alone. Mostly. But Gerard doesn't know if that's worse or not.

He was pretty much happy though to be lost in his little world until he felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck that told him, 'oh God. Someone's staring at me.' He turned his head around to look away from the window slowly and cautiously, realising that he was wrong. Everyone was staring at him. A million possibilities were whizzing around his head; was he accidentally talking to himself again? Was he singing? Did he fart and not notice? Was he asked a question? 

"Well, Mr Way?" a nasal monotone rang out.

Bingo.

He wishes he could have replied with something witty, something that would make people laugh and then forgive his strangeness but no, nothing ever really worked out that way for him. Ultimately, he just sunk further into his chair and hid behind his hair looking sheepish, his brain searching for any recollection of Mr Warrener’s question as he stuttered over an, “Uhmm,” coupled with rapid blinking.

"Just as I thought. Pay attention next time, Way. We'll certainly not learn anything daydreaming now, will we?" The greying man asked with a challenging raised eyebrow and a smirk to say ‘Got you, Idiot.’

Gerard just shook his head and retreated further behind his black mop of hair as variations of snickers were released around the room, with a couple of "faggots" or "freaks" hidden under breaths or covered by fake coughs. Still, Gerard heard them. 

Gerard didn't turn to face the window again in fear of being caught, instead focusing his attention on the clock. There was thirteen minutes left until lunch, but each second felt like a minute and really Gerard felt like eternity would pass before he could escape Warrener's monotone ramblings about corrosion. 

His eyes were slipping closed gradually, his brain slowly turning off as he struggled to pay attention to whatever the teacher was saying. It wasn’t like it mattered anyways. Everyone, including Warrener, knew Gerard only picked Geography because the careers adviser made him, telling him it would ‘widen his options’ and ‘impress employers by showing he has a variety of skills.’ Gerard, of course, knew that was bullshit. All anyone employing him were going to be looking for was a great art school training and a kickass portfolio. And all art school wanted was a kickass portfolio, potential and a couple good grades, which he’d gotten in his SATs in Fall after reluctantly working averagely hard.

He still had to complete his portfolio for art, though. He had two months left. Two months and no muse.

His eyes had reached the point of being about 2/3rds closed when there was a knock on the door and the head of the school’s mousey receptionist poked through the door.

“Sorry, is Gerard Way in this class?” She asked, her voice gentle and squeaky, and Gerard was still having a hard time deciding if he liked it or not, even after attending the school for 4 years.

He raised his hand and tried to catch her eye without having to speak up, deciding that would be likely be a disaster knowing his luck and unfortunate lack of eloquence, and would just add to his previous embarrassment.

“Your brother’s in the office, dear. He’d like to speak to you at lunch before your mother picks him up,” she said once she’d spotted him hiding in the shadowy corner of the room.

“Sorry for interrupting, Mr Warrener,” she added with a flutter of her eyelashes that made Gerard want to throw up as she slipped out the door.

Mr Warrener threw him an eye and got back to teaching, turning around to his whiteboard and pointing to a complicated diagram Gerard couldn’t A) remember him drawing or B) remember learning about before.

Gerard presumed Mikey had probably got caught with weed again, but also knew if that was the case the school were used to it by now so there’d be no long term consequences other than another traumatizing hour or two spent with the school counsellor, so he didn’t worry. He probably just wanted to remind him not to forget to take his pills or something.

Seven minutes left, Gerard counted. His eyes flickered momentarily to the window to his left again, the sky that had been relatively blue minutes ago, dotted with fluffy white clouds and looking otherwise peaceful except for the odd bird passing by had turned a sickly grey colour as a blanket of heaviness ensconced the sky, making him shiver as the sun was blocked out.

“I expect all of pages 7 to 12 of the text book completed for Thursday. That’s two nights so no exceptions unless someone’s died, okay folks?” The slightly wrinkled teacher announced, receiving a disgruntled and disinterested grumble from the class in response, to which he chuckled, “Yeah, yeah. Say, I’ll be nice, you can chat amongst yourselves until the bell rings, how ‘bout that?”

Gerard would have appreciated it equally as much as the rest of the class, if he’d actually had any friends in this class. He’d tried to convince Ray to take Geography this year but Ray had been offered Advanced Math and there was really no arguing that that would look far more impressive that Geography, no matter how much bullshit Gerard gave him about ‘widening his options’ or whatever the hell the careers advisor had been on about.

Gerard began to sketch a vampire monkey into the side of his binder as the others around him moved their obnoxiously creaky chairs to face their friends or laughed and threw paper balls at each other. How that was amusing, he’d never know. His mom always told him he should try and understand others so that maybe he could laugh along with them or even make some more friends, but it was those sort of things that made him really rather content with his lack of comprehension of other teenagers’ sense of humour.

He was reaching for his red biro to draw a wound in the monkey’s stomach just as the bell rang for lunch. With a sigh of relief – and of frustration that he didn’t get to finish his monkey – he packed up his slightly tattered books into his more than slightly tattered book bag and trudged out of the classroom toward the reception. 

The halls of the school were painted with horrendously bright colours that were probably intended to have connotations of sunshine or some other positive bullshit but really just reminded everyone of puke. The lockers were dented and chipping blue paint to reveal the grey metal they were made of, clearly having suffered the abuse of students files or bodies for many years. Gerard was just glad he only had to witness one more.

The only corridor of the school Gerard actually didn’t shiver at the sight of was the art corridor, which was, besides the music rooms, the only subject upstairs at the back of the school. A pair of double doors just after the teacher’s lounge blocked it off from the rest of the school, and the only students who ventured there were the students who either took art or music, and then tended to actually kind of look up to Gerard a bit, even he would admit that, or nerds seeking somewhere to eat rather than the canteen or the courtyard.

The walls there were painted by the art students, hundreds of different styles, themes and ideas combining across the walls. Gerard had even completed one of the smaller walls in one of the smaller rooms, used mainly for students wanting quiet to focus, entirely himself. It was one of his favourite things he’s done, focusing on the group of heroes from his comics that he writes in his free time. He wasn’t allowed to make it too gory, so it was mostly just his heroes walking away from flames, some looking defeated and others accomplished, but it meant a lot to him. He’d miss seeing it when he left Belleville High, but that was about all he’d miss.

The reception, however, was the opposite side of the school from Gerard’s sanctuary of the art corridor, so he had to face the brutally disgusting walls of the rest of the building to get there unfortunately. Mikey was sitting in one of the lumpy padded chairs laid out in the small room, with one leg tucked under the other, a book in his hands that look quite nearly finished and a detached expression on his face, as per usual in public.

Gerard took the seat next to him, leaning on the arm rest closest to Mikey and looking over his arm at the book on his lap, “What’re you reading?”

“Jesus, Gee,” Mikey jumped at the sound of Gerard’s voice so close to his ear, “didn’t even see you. Uh, just this thing about this weird knight dude I found in the library. I hadn’t read it before, so, you know,” Mikey dragged off with a shrug.

“S-so, what did you wanna tell me?” Gerard asked.

“Oh, uh, I was supposed to pick Kristin up from dance after school at like 4, but I doubt Mom will let me out of the house so could you? You have a car anyways, that’s like… easier,” he trailed off again.

“4? Mikes, I’ll be sitting in the c-ca-,” he had to pause for a second, “car f-fu-for like an hour,” he whined in response, wanting to just be able to go home and finish the Daredevil he’d been reading last night and never finished.

“Stop complaining, just go get coffee that’s what I do. Now go eat lunch, and don’t forget to take your pills.”

Gerard pushed himself out of the seat with a huff, feeling his pills heavy in his pocket now, “What you even get busted for?”

Mikey shrugged, going back to his book, “You know, the usual.”

Gerard shook his head as he left the room to meet Ray and Pete, his only two friends, at their usual lunch spot in the tiny art room donning Gerard’s mural. He kept his head down as he made his way through the corridors, as if he could blend into the walls, but the black against yellow wasn’t really working for him.

The usual manic of the school corridors had been directed to the canteen by this time, so he reached the art room without trouble, slumping into his seat with a huff as he pulled his slightly squashed lunch bag out of his book bag.

“What took you so long, dude?” Pete questioned, his mouth full of sandwich and spewing tiny crumbs with every syllable.

“Ugh,” Gerard sighed, “Mikey wants m-me to pick his g-guh-,” he had to pause and breathe again, “g-girlfriend up from dance after school,” he said, breaking his biscuit in half and nibbling on one end.

Pete shrugged, “she’s hot, though.” Gerard just rolled his eyes at Pete’s typical Pete-ness, continuing to scrape the chocolate off of the biscuit with his teeth before licking it off and savouring the flavour.

Lunch was mostly uneventful, Ray telling them of his brother’s new riff that he was showing him the night before and Pete updating them on the drama of his Myspace Top 8, and the showdown that had happened online with Mike Pedicone involving twitter icons and Madonna. Gerard remained mostly quiet, like always. Pete and Ray, and pretty much everyone who knew him, were used to it by now, though, it wasn’t strange for his only participation in discussion to be a nod or two. If you got him riled up enough, or passionate enough about a subject (hint: Star Wars) then he could talk excitedly and passionately like anyone else, but his words still got tangled in his mouth, no matter how comfortable he was with the person. And, well, everyone has those miniscule things about themselves that feel like a bullet wound every time they become noticeable. That was one of Gerard’s. He had a few. So he’d learned to keep quiet most of the time, it wasn’t nice to be called ‘F-f-f-freak’ or ‘Ret-t-tarded’. 

It wasn’t like Ray or Pete would say anything mean to him about it, and they never had, but old habits die hard.

When the bell for the end of lunch rang they all groaned simultaneously, followed by giggles and the packing up of any unfinished lunches.

“Where are you guys next?” Ray asked, liking the jam on his fingers off with loud sucks.

“I’ve got English with Gibson,” Pete sulked, they all grimaced. Mr Gibson even over took Warrener on the boring scale, never mind the fact that he smelt like he hasn’t taken a shower since 1956.

“Ew, dude, good luck,” Ray chuckled, “I’m in Math.”

“I’m here,” Gerard added, grabbing his bag and slinging it into the seat he sits in for class.

“Okay, see you then, maybe see you later?” Ray asked, following Pete out of the bright classroom whilst walking backwards. Gerard nodded and waved, waiting until they long passed through the double doors and turned the corner towards the stairs before leaving the classroom and looking around him, walking towards the doors himself, like every lunch that he had an art period after. 

When he got to the bin just after the double doors at the entrance to the art corridor, he popped the two pills Mikey had reminded him to take. Not into his mouth, though. Into the bin.


	2. Told You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward at first sight.

The rain was calming quickly as Gerard waited in the parking lot of the old building.  The thick, murderous streams of water consoling themselves into fragile rivers and pitter-pattering beads of assuaged fret. The sun was beginning to peek out from behind the burdensome grey sheet of cloud that had seemed to consume the sky in its entirety only moments ago, overlooking the older withering building like a warden of only good intentions, despite the fact that the storm, Gerard knew, had not ceased in its detonation but only passed by to hover someplace else.

The ballet studio resembled a church, and Gerard pondered over whether or not that had been its intended purpose and use years ago, back in the raging 20s when most of the town was built and later abandoned in the consequential period of the depression in the 30s. Around the time that his grandma had been born, he supposed. It was painted a horrible egg yellow colour that looked like it had been stained with motor oil in varying sized blotchy patches. It was also chipping and peeling with age and through turmoil, like it was shedding itself of the yellow it had tried to be. Or, that the yellow it had yearned to be had been worn off with strife, leaving an equally repulsive grey colour in its wake.  
  
Gerard turned his windshield wipers off, revelling in the fact that he could stop burning his cars battery that was probably going to need replaced soon. He realised the Kristin was probably going to be one of the last out, most likely being too nice not to stay that extra half an hour to help their teacher tidy up or help some younger kids on the moves they had found difficult during the class. And so he wound the cog on the side of his seat to make the back of the seat tip back to relieve the tension in his lower back from hunching over his drawings all day. He swung an arm round to rest behind his head and made a move to cross his legs, but he bumped his knee on his steering wheel by accident, hitting it right in the crevasse of your knee where every nerve seemed to unfortunately be placed.  
  
“Jesus,” he whined around a bit lip, his eyes scrunching as he tipped his head back in uncomfortable pain, and massaged his joint in an attempt to ease the tingling sensation.  
  
Still, Gerard’s legs never really seemed to be able to rest unless one was placed over the other at the thigh – which he realised wasn’t the most common amongst guys, most preferring to cross their legs at the knee, but Gerard guessed he was never the most conventional ‘manly-man’ anyways and he never would be, no matter how much his little brother teased him -  and so he tried to bend his right knee as close to his chest as possible, causing his torso to curl in on itself and his head to raise from where it was resting on his lent back chair, no doubt creating multiple unflattering chins at the top of his neck as his mouth opened and his bottom lip lowered, baring his small bottom teeth in his endeavours.

He then tried to straighten his leg as far as he was able to, over his dashboard and steering wheel, and finally over to rest on his other leg. He managed to raise his leg high enough to get it over his steering wheel, but came across another obstacle when he couldn’t get it in under his dashboard again, his foot caught on the piece of doorframe where the window met the windshield on his left side, and his knee touching his right shoulder, meaning his leg was bent in the most cramped, unaccommodating position he could imagine. His torso was still curled, his chin bowed at an ill-favoured angle, his brow furrowed and his tongue now peeking out in strife. It was evident to say, he wasn’t in the most complimentary of positions.

And of course, because that’s how Gerard’s life always seemed to play out, that was when he saw him.  
  
He was walking out of the arched, cracked wooden double doors with a black bag that resembled a duffel bag held in the crease of his elbow as his hand scratched the side of his neck. He was walking with two girls, both dressed in pale pink tights and navy blue leotards with wraps around their waists. But that was all Gerard noticed of them because in that moment, his attention was singly focused on the boy.

Gerard could only see the side of his face but he was nevertheless entranced. The boy’s nose seemed straight but it had a slight curve at the tip and bridge. His cheekbones raised only slightly above the hollows of his cheeks, bare of blemishes and shining with damp sweat. He tipped his head back and laughed, and Gerard nearly had a heart attack at the mere sight of his smile, his lips stretching back over his grin at something his friend had said.

He was wearing a red vest that Gerard thought was probably supposed to be taught and tight but seemed to be slightly too loose on his small frame, Gerard guesses probably because he was so slender. The only other thing he had on, other than his beat up white converse that Gerard didn’t think were actually the brand they claimed to be, were tight, tiny black shorts that hardly almost reached mid-thigh.

His legs were slim, but Gerard could see the shadows cast in various places that he knew meant that his muscles must be strong from his study of anatomy for his art class. The boy was petite, probably only the size to reach Gerard’s jaw line, who wasn’t a particularly tall person himself. He was even an inch or two shorter than one of the girls he was walking alongside. His shoulders were small and feminine in the most captivating of ways, his arms long and Gerard could almost picture them drawing perfect lines in their wake as he danced.  His hair was short and shiny so that the sun that had now essentially appeared was glistening off it. He wanted to rake his fingers through the small strands.

He’d never wanted to paint a person so badly in his life. His breath got caught in his throat around a swallow, his eyes stinging at their overexposure to the air, he obviously hadn’t been blinking.  
  
Gerard’s gangly limbs seemed to have rearranged themselves in his absorption, he noticed when reality seemed to creep back into the forefront of his mind. His shoulders had relaxed and the deep creasing above his brow had now ceased. But his heart was racing, beating faster than he had felt it before - other than when he had to submit his first senior art project of the year despite knowing that the shadows on the left side of one of his smaller pieces weren’t quite right - as he watched the boy walk across the car park to the most beat up, little car Gerard had ever seen.

The red paint of the car was chipping worse than the ballet studio, its life and vibrancy flaking off. It oozed sadness and disparity and Gerard wondered what a boy whose vibrancy had been enticing enough that Gerard had been completely captured by the way his hair curled slightly behind his ear was doing getting into a car like that.  
  
The boy had driven off before Gerard had realised, his small car grumbling and puffing out smoke as it left the lot of the studio and taking a turn in the opposite direction than Gerard was due to go in order to reach his house. Gerard’s eyes were fixed to the last place he had seen the car, his mouth hanging open slightly and his heart still racing at a worrying pace when the passenger door opened and Kristen leant her head and shoulders in.  
  
“Gerard? Where’s Mikey?” she asked while climbing inside, throwing his bag, similar to that that the boy had been carrying, in the back and shutting the door with a huff, probably confused because Gerard never really left his basement-turned-bedroom for much other than to get food or go to school.  
  
“Um,” Gerard mumbled as he let his eyes slowly drift to greet her, “He- he had to stay home. He g-got sick in school, or – or something.” He coughed, turning his keys in the ignition. Gerard knew Kristin didn’t know of Mikey’s bad habits, and he wasn’t about to rat him out, not when they were partly Gerard’s fault in the first place.  
  
“Oh. That’s ok actually, we usually walk home so I thought you’d just illegally leant him the car or something at first but this is cool, too,” she paused to laugh, “We still going to your house?” she asked, rubbing her arms where goose bumps had appeared despite the sun due to her lack of clothing. It was still autumn, the sun didn’t always mean it was warm, especially if you lived as far north as they did.  
  
“I mean, sure. If- if you want, that is.” He shrugged, his natural awkwardness apparent despite knowing Kristen for about two years already.

“Sure, I suppose this is easier cause you’ve got the car. Usually we have to walk which sucks ‘cause my feet fucking _hurt,_ ” she replied, turning her head to look at him whilst bringing a foot up to cradle, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip for a while before she cautiously asked, “How have you been, Gerard?”

And there it was. His answer was automatic.

“Better,” said with a hint of a smile, and a nonchalant shrug.

He knew she didn’t believe him, usually people tended not to, but she settled for it.

A silence settled in as they drove, one that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but still put Gerard on edge, his mind whirling worriedly that he was boring her and of the following consequences that could possibly ensue, so he asked the first thing that came to mind, “so, um-uh, h-how was ballet then?”

This brightened up the mood, Kristin’s face lifting into an animated smile as she talked cheerfully about the subject, “it was great! Mrs Dalzell has us doing a group dance in the showcase in a couple months as well as some people’s solos or duets so we’ve been working on that. Which is bloody tiring but will look amazing when it’s done and perfected which I’m just hoping it will be.”

Gerard tried his best to pay attention to the road and Kristin’s ramblings, happy to let her talk for as long as possible, and thought he was doing quite well at humming and nodding in all the right places.

“Oh! And,” she continued, “We had a pirouette-off while we were warming up and waiting for Mrs Dalzell to come in and of course, Frank won, but I thought I did pretty well when I hit 11. Darcy says she hit 16 a couple days ago so she’s going to see if she can beat Frankie next time although I almost doubt that’s possible because I’ve honestly never met anyone else so dedicated in my life and he’s got way more training than the rest of us obviously cause he goes-”

This caught his attention since he hadn’t seen any other boys come out of the old church, and so this Frank, he deducted, must be the boy he had seen.

“Who’s Frank?” he asked, cutting Kristin off and surprising them both.

“Oh, he’s the only guy in our class. He’s really good, don’t think he does much else though,” she shrugged, continuing on with describing her day.

They pulled up to Gerard’s house and he fumbled with the keys to get them out of the ignition before leading them both out of the car and into the sanctity of his home.

“M-Mikey’s probably in his room,” Gerard said, prompting Kristin to go upstairs so he didn’t look rude by disappearing to his basement-turned-bedroom and leaving her alone.

“Okay,” she said with a pretty smile, “see you later, Gerard!” She ran up the stairs energetically, leaving Gerard feeling tired from just watching her move so much.

He toed his shoes off by the door, mostly so he wouldn’t lose them again like he did last time he took them off in his room (they were under his new canvases), and trudged to the door under the stairs that looked like a closet but really held the staircase down to the basement. He flicked on the old chunky switches as he rubbed his eyes and made his way down the stairs, accidently kicking over a slightly disgusting pot of water he’d been using a few weeks ago at the bottom.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself, lifting the pot and chucking it into the sink at the far end of the room. He stared at the stain for a while, raking his brain for the motivation to try and get the forming stain out of the ugly green carpet, before sighing and walking to his bed. It was just water, it’d dry.

He collapsed onto his bed backwards, sighing loudly and feeling his lungs deflate, wondering if it was possible that one day he could sigh so hard, empty them so completely that they’d just never refill. He ran an ink stained hand through his hair as he sat up slightly on his elbows to survey his room for something to do.

He could finish that daredevil issue, or re-read that bit of Watchmen he’d been meaning to, or he could pencil the next page of his book. He knew which one he needed to do, which he wanted to do most, but he also knew that wasn’t going to happen. He’d hit a dead end.

His heroes, primarily Planetary Boy and Rosary, had killed the last zombie in the last issue he’d completed - not that it went anywhere, all his comics just sat in his drawer, never to see the light of day (not that he saw much of that either). They still hadn’t killed Professor Cyanide yet though, but he just wasn’t sure how they should do it. It needed to be the ultimate victory, fantastic, marvellous, clever and unexpected but still have a build-up that would leave everyone wanting more, more, more. Usually, Gerard has images and ideas floating around his head constantly, hundreds of options to choose from so much so that it drove him kind of insane.

Not lately, though. Right now he had nothing. Nothing for his final project for art, nothing for his comic, nothing.

He’d thought it was the medication at first, that that was why he couldn’t think, or maybe, that that was why he could. And that maybe that was the problem.

He just needed to focus, to block out everything except a singular thing of interest, something intricate or exciting, something beautiful or something to make beautiful. Or maybe something to make ugly. Something small and precious but big like a galaxy he could make comprehendible with the delicate stroke of a brush. Or at least, something he wanted to do so with.

Gerard’s brain had always worked weird, and he had tried to fix the bits he didn’t like, he guessed. That’s all he wanted to do. But it didn’t quite work out that way. And then they tried to fix the results of that that they didn’t like. But again, it didn’t quite work out that way.

He closed his eyes when they started to sting, letting his arms give out from underneath him, his back hitting the bed as he flopped. He ran a hand over his face and sniffed. His nose was running. He curled up into a ball on his side, like he did as a child since he learnt about the recovery position and how it helps you to breathe when you can’t. When he was little, it was so he didn’t die in his sleep. He didn’t know if that was why anymore. He hoped it still was.

His lungs filled with stale, dusty air as he thought about how everyone had hoped for the best, like he had, and how everyone tries to fix things that are broken, and about how unfortunate it is that, really, things never quite work out that way.

He looked at the blinking clock beside his bed, it was 4:52 PM, and at the unfinished daredevil on the floor, and closed his eyes, and far too easily, drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO it 's taken me for ever to update bc Satan seems to run my school's English department at the minute. Oops. I hope you can forgive me. I'm a slow writer though so don't expect that to change, sorry. Anyways, I am pretty proud of this chapter:) Hope you liked!
> 
> xoGia


	3. A/N - SORRY

Hey everyone,

I figured it was only fair to the small majority of those who haven't forgotten about this fic, to apologize for the fact that its been so long ... and that unfortunately I'm abandoning this fic. 

Firstly, I was just too busy to write and then when the twitter fandom kind of started to disintegrate I really lost my connection with MCR and the community as a whole, and although I still have many friends from being into MCR and similar bands, and still really appreciate them as artists, I've simply moved on. 

This work really was my baby, and my good friend Sophie and I used to spend hours theorizing, coming up with headcannons and generally loving what we dubbed 'Ballet!Frank'. As much as I would love to see it continue, and hey maybe one day it will, I just don't have the same motivation for it anymore.

So, I'm really very sorry to anyone who enjoyed what little of this fic got posted - and if you're interested in reading the chapters that didn't get posted please let me know and I'll maybe post them :) 

I'd really appreciate it if you could read my newest one-shot too, its very special to me and I'd be very thankful :)

Once again, I'm soooo sorry!!!

-

Gia xx


	4. Chapter 3

Gerard was at his desk, staring at the paper in front of him, his hand readied with a pencil and poised for action, to strike. It was 6AM. It had been six days, and he had not drawn a thing apart from random variations of comic book characters or vampires to look occupied in Art class. Although, he knew Mr. Morrison could tell something was wrong. He had woken up at five, having fallen asleep so early and his body so used to little sleep, but by now, his eyelids were starting to droop again, flickering shut momentarily before determination and logic woke him up again, and caused him whiplash as his head shot up from where it had begun to lower. Determination to actually draw something, to get this next page done, or even the next frame, and logic, seeing there was no point in sleeping now when he had to wake up in an hour anyhow.

He twiddled his pencil in his hand, rocking it back and forth between his index finger and thumb, each side poking out going opposite directions, and then the other way. The paper was still blank and as he looked back and forth between the completed pages and the daunting one in from of him he grew more and more agitated, his breath picking up in speed and volume, whistling through his nose as his lips were pursed into a tight line. He began to tap the end of his pencil on his desk rapidly and repeatedly, getting faster and faster as his frustration increased, his eyes flickering between his paints and canvases, his completed pages and the one laid before him, still glaringly blank. His tapping got louder and faster, his throat constricting and a sad sneer appearing on his lips, before he crashed the pencil down hard, his hand darting away from it as if it was a hot potato.

He got up and walked away from his seat in annoyance, his hand coming up to pick at the dry and flaking skin on his lips, which Mikey continuously told him to moisturise, but he never bothered, it wasn’t like he would be kissing anybody anytime soon.

He just couldn’t focus, he thought again, as he racked his brain for ideas, for inspiration. Before, he used to see wonder in everything, or be able to see the lack of wonder and make that wondrous, make its dullness mean something. Now though, he still saw those things, maybe not so much but they were still there, however, it was like he couldn’t do anything with them, everything was just stuck in his head with no way out. But, he thought, at least that was better than when he was on the pills.

It was like he had trained his brain to only work at its best when it was drunk and high as a kite. And that, he guessed, was a fault of his own. He just wanted his brain to go back to before the before. Before the fucked-up-ness, and before the fixing of the fucked-up-ness.

He tried to think of his week, about things that had had an impact on him, made him think about things, but nothing seemed good enough or was sparking any ideas.

But then he remembered the boy. The one with shiny, sweaty hair and out of place car and how he was small but he looked powerful. And he looked back at his page, slowly making his way back to his old, broken brown chair to grab his pencil, and begin to draw.

He drew the church large and his companions blurred, he drew him small but defined, his posture straight, and his shadow casting on the church wall massive, overshadowing everything else on the page. He shaded all but the out of proportion shadow black and white, but coloured the shadow vibrantly, with greens and pinks and yellows like the sun that day.

And once he was finished, he looked back at it, looked at how it wasn’t the best piece of art he had ever done, and how some lines were slightly bent and how a great lot of the shadows weren’t quite right and at how much he loved it.

It was nothing to do with his comic, but maybe one day it could be, and he grabbed some blue tack from the oddly shaped lump of it on his desk and tacked it to the wall. He hadn’t thought about the boy since the day he had saw him, his mind often quickly moving on from one interesting thing to other, unless it was something like his end of year project last year, then it consumed him entirely. There was no in between with Gerard.

It had been exactly a week since he had picked Kristin up from class, meaning that possibly, he could see the boy again today. He knew he would like that, but the idea of attempting to socialise, of stepping outside of his comfort zone just seemed outrageous to him, and in reality he knew he would probably chicken out of speaking to him, and it would be pointless ultimately. But the idea trickled in the back of his mind still.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes roughly, glimpsing out form between his fingers to look at his clock again, finding it probably a reasonable time to start getting ready. He scanned his messy floor for something decent to wear before throwing on a semi-clean t-shirt and one of his three pairs of jeans – the tighter pair though, because he was still thinking about meeting the boy and well, Gerard’s butt was one of his best attributes. He pissed, washed his face and brushed his teeth in the small, make-shift and untiled bathroom attached to his room, studying his face in the dirty mirror hung crookedly above the sink.

His skin was dry, and flaking slightly but he had no spots, which was a blessing, but his eyes were puffy and heavy, aged with dark circles indicating his lack of sleep, and something more. His hair for once wasn’t all-together too greasy, since he’d showered two days prior, so he ran his fingers through the tangles casually and pushed the shorter front bits to the side.

His shoulders were slumped, like he was trying to grow smaller, and he wondered if that could be the answer to why his back always hurt. He rolled them back, hearing his back crack in protest to the unfamiliar upright position, and tilted his chin up in attempt to look important and confident. He supposed it worked, slightly, but it also made him look like one of those Queen’s Guard puppets you get in trinket stores, and so he resumed his normal slumping and trudged with a defeated huff out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the rest of the house.

Mikey was sitting at the island eating toast covered in some sort of yellow-green jam that made Gerard screw his nose up, and their mom was busying herself with the previous night’s dishes.

“Morning, Fuckface,” Mikey said with a teasing glint in his eye that Gerard think only he would spot.

“Morning, Dipshit,” Gerard grinned, pouring himself a bowl of fruit loops and flopping onto the stool opposite his brother.

“What’s got you up so early?” Donna asked over her shoulder at the munching boy.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied around a mouthful of cereal, spitting wet crumbs onto the table.

“You’re gross,” Mikey mumbled with a screwed up face.

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Donna replied, cheerfully, she was a morning person, unlike the brothers, “I usually gotta drag you out of bed by your hair. Which needs a cut again, by the way,” she added. Gerard grunted in response, swinging his legs and simultaneously banging his knee on the counter, earning a snicker from Mikey, who got up to clear away his plate.

Gerard couldn’t get the boy out of his head, or the impending thought of never getting to see him again, so he did something drastic, something that usually he would never even dream of doing. He voluntarily offered to socialize.

“Hey, uh-uh, M-Mikes?”

He received a grunt in response.

“I could, uh-uhm, I could drive y-you and Kristin h-home from her dance tod-day,” he suggested clumsily.

Mikey perked up at this, “Really? Thanks, Gee, that’d be great. Fucking hate walking home, man.” And Gerard nodded in agreement. So he might see him again, that was cool, no big deal, he tried to convince himself.

The boys organised themselves and left the house to a sunny day. The clouds were minimal this particular morning, leaving the sun to keep the sky bright and the temperature warm. Both boys smiled a little at this peculiar occurrence for New Jersey. They got into Gerard’s car quickly though, in fear of being late for school since neither liked to leave any earlier than necessary, and began their drive to what Gerard would refer to as a ‘mediocre hell’.

“So,” Mikey began cautiously, with a slight smirk on his face, “what’s with the sudden change of attitude?”

“Hm? W-what do you m-mean,” clearly his mouth was refusing to cooperate even more than usual today, since he usually never really messed up his speech to Mikey. He was dreading class.

“Well, you know, driving Kristin and I,” he prompted. Gerard panicked, unwilling to tell Mikey about his interest in the boy he’d seen due to the unavoidable teasing it would ensue.

He shrugged in an attempt to be casual. Mikey glanced at him suspiciously, but didn’t press further, and Gerard let out a small, and hopefully unnoticeable sigh of relief.

The rest of their journey was relatively quiet, the brothers not needing conversation to fill the silence. When they arrived at the school gates Mikey let out an, ‘ugh’, at the sight of the school.

Gerard chuckled in response, letting out an easy, “I know right,” under his breath in return. They turned in the gate and climbed out of the car unwillingly and slung their bags over their shoulders, making their way to the entrance.

“See you here at the end of school then?” Mikey asked.

“Yep,” Gerard breathed, nodding his head to clarify before he trudged reluctantly into the building.

His day passed as usual, his muscles moving from class to class to lunch to class by purely ritual and his brain remaining mostly empty and uninspired, likely because Gerard didn’t really seem to have a single teacher, other than Mr. Morrison, who had any insightful knowledge at all to impart on him. And, because school fucking sucked. Not as bad as homework did though, because really homework was the true bane of his existence.

When the bell rang for the end of last class, Gerard could have jumped for joy if he had the energy, and the nerves weren’t beginning to bubble up in his stomach already. He didn’t know what it was about this guy, maybe it was the fact that he looked like the perfect painting, an idyllic idea of something that you wouldn’t really see floating about Belleville all that often, a pretty, petit male ballet dancer. He was something different. A bit like Gerard felt – maybe. Or maybe his interest sparked from the fact that they were so vastly different, seeing as the boy – Frank, Kristin had called him, Gerard needed to remember that – probably exercised more in a week that Gerard had in his whole life.

He put his books in his locker and made his way to meet Mikey, who was waiting for him when he arrived, “you ready to g-g-go then?”

Mikey gave him a look - because even Gerard knew he looked tense, or, more tense than he usually was – and shrugged casually, beginning to walk to the car.

Gerard took a deep breath, and hoped to whatever god was out there that he wouldn’t fuck this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it seems I had 3 and a half chapters written.... but I might try and finish the 4th one if anyone wants me to :) Let me know :) ALSO, if anyone wants to take over this fic please dont be afraid to hit me up on twitter (@angeljungguk) or in the comments- although twitter would be easier- and I'd be happy to see if we could work something out since I'd love to see this go somewhere :)
> 
> Once again, sorry that this will be unfinished on my part.
> 
> Lots of loves,  
> Gia x

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been in the works for a while, probably about 9 months and has always been affectionately dubbed "Ballet!Frank", and although it's not the first fic I've written, its the first I've ever posted - so please be nice to me.  
> Updates may be slow because I have a lot of work and it does take me a while but I promise this will continue, likely no matter if anyone reads it or not, because this idea is pretty much my child, to be honest.  
> Sorry for any mistakes!
> 
> Also, I don't know a lot about speech impediments, stammers or medication so please feel free to correct me if I write anything offensive or you know a way I could write it better :)
> 
> COMMENTS AND KUDOS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU FOR READING!!  
> xoGia (@WEARYWlDOW on twitter)


End file.
